


Erik’s Coming of Age

by AmalgamOfFaces



Series: Luminerik Darkspawn AU #1 [2]
Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Abuse, Act 2 Spoilers, Blood, Blood Drinking, Body Horror, Gen, Icelandic substituted for old norse forgive me, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Possession, good luck figuring out what's supposed to be canon tho, heavy artistic liberties taken for viking rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26202244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmalgamOfFaces/pseuds/AmalgamOfFaces
Summary: Erik, by some cruel twist of fate, finds himself still with the Vikings when he reaches adulthood.Upon coming of age, all foundlings must undertake and survive a ritual or else be cast out into the unforgiving cold.How bad could it be?(Part of the darkspawn series canon, but can be read alone.)
Series: Luminerik Darkspawn AU #1 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845727
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	Erik’s Coming of Age

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm messing with (Read: ignoring) canon ages/timelines. My city now.

The evening before his 18th birthday, or at least what the Chief had decided it was, Erik found himself with just as many chores and just as little food as usual. He knew his sister Mia didn’t believe him anymore when he claimed to have divided what they’d been given and eaten already, but she wouldn’t say anything, just give him a _look_ and be on her way. He could handle that.

She had been unceremoniously dismissed to their shelter long before the usual time that the two would wander back on their own. The sun had hardly set and Chief had sent her on her way with threats just specific enough to keep her there. Erik knew he’d be getting an indignant earful from her when he returned… if he returned. That it was now an uncertainty made him almost look forward to it.

The alternative, Mia staying up all night only to find come morning that her only family had been cast out or worse, Erik didn’t want to consider. His brain had other opinions on the matter.

And of course the entire clan had suddenly become as annoyingly vague and reticent as possible about the upcoming ceremony or task or journey or _whatever_ it was. Erik hadn’t even been able to goad some of the dumber Vikings into spilling details, not that he’d gotten much time with them. The Chief knew who the weak links were better than he did, and had easily found something to occupy Erik’s time and energy.

But pointlessly moving stupidly heavy crates, probably filled with _rocks_ just for this purpose, across into another area (from which he’d no doubt have to move them _back_ for some infraction like daring to exist and not look busy) failed to occupy his _mind_.

The only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that if he failed this upcoming… whatever it was, he could no longer stay here. The cruel joke that the siblings could leave whenever they wanted to was just that. Without a ship, making it to civilization would be impossible... assuming anyone would even help after the fact. Leaving, or being thrown out, was a death sentence.

Erik shivered. After today, assuming he survived, he’d be expected to join in on the bloody raids, a true Viking… or as true as a foreigner foundling could ever be. The mind-numbing and backbreaking work of moving cargo and stacking crates would still fall to him in all likelihood, but he’d no longer be able to pretend he wasn’t a part of what went on here. He’d no longer be an innocent to be saved.

It’d be too late for that.

He scoffed to himself, quiet enough not to cause offense to those nearby. As if anyone was going to save them. What kind of stupid pipe dream was that?

Cracking his knuckles in attempt to drive away the stiffness, Erik turned to retrieve another crate when he was stopped by Hafr and Skegg. As far as Vikings went, they weren’t the worst. It wasn’t exactly the highest praise in the land, but it was something.

“Alrighty, runt, right this way.” Clapping Erik on the shoulder, Hafr steered him towards the armory and washing hall (their proximity to each other pretty self explanatory after seeing a crew come back from a raid). “Time for you to get ready for the festivities.”

Erik didn’t miss the hint of glee Hafr seemed to be doing his best to conceal. His stomach turned.

“But I didn’t finish the, uh-” Erik wasn’t sure what to call his task.

Hafr laughed, waving it off with his free hand. “Aye, but Skeggi here won’t tell, will you?”

Erik wasn’t able to see any change in expression from Skegg at all, but Hafr seemed pleased.

“There, what’d I say?”

Suppressing a sigh, Erik followed along, noting the distinct lack of people on the way. From the looks of things, whatever the ‘festivities’ were wouldn’t be a private event. Great.

This was really happening.

Once they’d arrived, Erik received a less than gentle, though not quite unfriendly, push in the direction of the door to the bathing area.

“Now you just get yourself cleaned up, leave your clothes out the door. We’ll be making sure you won’t be taking anything in.” Hafr’s grin took on a dark glint. “You just sort yourself out, and we’ll all handle the rest.”

* * *

Left alone for the moment, divested of all but the skin on his back, Erik made his way over to the prefilled washbasin. He inspected it with suspicion, distrusting even something as simple as this, before determining that it was just water, and clear at that. There had been no apparent attempt to warm it, but in all honesty that would have made him more wary. Freezing cold and unscented, the water lay there harmlessly, potential frostbite aside.

And yet, Erik hesitated.

Well, it wasn’t going to get any warmer sitting there. Sighing heavily, he shook his head and got on with it, starting with his face and hair and working down to minimize the amount of time the water might be in contact with skin.

_Fuck,_ it was cold.

Trying to distract himself, or even possibly lift his spirits a little, Erik let himself pretend that this was all the trial would be. Only a True Viking could possibly deal with this bullshit on a regular basis. Dunking yourself in water that would kill a normal man in seconds. A totally useful skill.

...and wasn’t ice water better at getting out blood?

At that Erik paused, a dark cloud gathering over his thoughts again.

Right. This wasn’t a joke.

After his first… excursion, blood would follow him back, even if he wanted to avoid it. There’d be no getting around the fact that _someone_ they’d come across on a raid would be fighting for their life, or even the lives of their family. Even if Erik didn’t kill directly (as he’d certainly be expected to), wounds, starvation, and infection they’d leave in their wake were just as deadly. Even if he just stood there and _watched,_ the boasts of cruelty after a crew returned, their laughter at how long some poor thing held out before their body failed them... they wouldn’t be just stories anymore.

What he was getting into wasn’t ever going to be clean or easy. Whatever this trial ended up being wouldn’t likely be either...

Plunging his hands in the ice cold water, Erik tried to banish his thoughts with the help of the freezing spears of pain that came with washing himself off.

Mia needed him. He couldn’t leave her alone with _them._ That’d have to be enough.

He couldn’t afford to worry about anybody else.

Once Erik decided he was probably clean enough, just about every inch of him aching from the cold, he dumped the basin into the run-off ditch. They hadn’t left him any coverings, leaving him with little other option than to breathe heat into his fingers and try not to invite frostbite. He supposed he should be grateful that he was able to do this on his own. It was too easy to imagine the basin being cruelly emptied over him as some final rinse off.

He shuddered. _Warm thoughts, warm thoughts_.

Unfortunately, Erik struggled to pull any to mind at that moment, the chill of the stone floor sapping heat from the soles of his feet every time he shifted his stance. He counted out beats of time, tapping his fingers against his arm as he waited, arms folded around himself to try and regain some semblance of warmth.

Why were they were making him wait?

...or were they waiting for something?

Erik’s anxiety spiked when he realized that it was entirely possible that he was supposed to be doing something, figuring something out. He could feel the invisible sands of time falling, piling up around him, and he was just _standing there._ Casting his gaze over the room, he failed to spot anything out of the ordinary, and he almost made for the door when another thought struck him.

What if he was just supposed to be patient?

What if leaving doomed him?

What if staying did?

Gritting his teeth as his throat tightened, Erik felt his mind spin. He scrambled to recall _exactly_ what he’d been told, or perhaps what had happened earlier in the day. But the memories were too old. He’d been focusing on other things and now different variations of wordings and order blurred over and over each other, each one sounding as likely as the next.

He couldn’t _afford_ to fail.

Erik was pulled rather abruptly from his spiraling thoughts when the door opened and Hafr appeared again, Skegg, as always, at his side.

“Come on then, boy,” Hafr waved him over, and Erik approached cautiously, hyper aware of his vulnerable state despite the lack of attention or care drawn to it. “We’ll see if we can make a Viking of you yet.”

* * *

In comparison to the room Erik had come from, the unfamiliar chamber was nearly stifling. Scores of Vikings crowded around a singular raised platform, an altar just visible in the center from below. Above the stench of unwashed bodies, a sharp scent of iron pervaded the space. As he was led up the steps to the dais, Erik didn’t have to wonder why for long.

Blood.

Icy, uneven stone nipped at the bottoms of Erik’s bare feet as he was brought forward to the center of the platform, jeers and cheers alike falling on deaf ears as he struggled to comprehend what he saw. On the altar was a body, partially dressed in what might have once been purple robes, lying face down, its back bare and split open. Red stains showed where lifeblood had once gushed freely.

“A priest o’ that bleeding tree,” Hafr told him quietly, dark satisfaction coloring his words. “Easy enough to find. Harder to keep alive ‘til now. All for your big day.”

Erik tried to take a step back, prevented only by Hafr and Skegg taking an arm each in a firm hold as he began to tremble.

_Alive?_

But Hafr spoke the truth. Erik could see the man’s _lungs_ where they struggled valiantly to keep air in to sustain his spirit. Each rib along his back had been cleanly broken in two and opened outward, holding skin and sinew and muscle out and away. The pink sacks that fought so hard to keep their owner tied to the world, inflating and deflating spasmodically, had been pulled out from their protective casing, draped across the upper back like a sick parody of an angel.

Hysterically, Erik wondered if this is what it would look like if a human dared ask for wings.

Blood, dark crimson and flowing slowly, no more than a trickle at this point, streamed down the sides of the priest, pooling and threading through the crevices of the altar. A large silver basin rested at the base, almost full to the brim from the runoff. Even without the horrifying modification, this man would die soon.

There was too much.

He couldn’t-

The grip on his arms doubled in strength as Erik was forced forward and down into a kneeling position.

“Now, we don’t know what kinda patron might take you on, y’see, seeing as you’ve no family line to speak of,” Hafr began, holding him still as Skegg stepped away. “So, we’ve a couple… precautions.”

Erik barely registered the hands being replaced with metal clamps, his mind screaming to look away from the altar, but finding himself unable to, almost entranced by the slow drip-drip of blood falling into the scarlet pool. Only the chains being pulled taut and locked into place garnered any reaction, where they crossed along his back digging into skin and forcing his shoulders back harshly.

“Gh-” Erik barely kept his teeth clenched shut around a cry of pain.

He had no idea what would mean failure here, but if previous experience meant anything…

_Yggdrasil_ , he couldn’t do this.

This was beyond fucked up, what was even _left?_

Relative silence fell over the crowd as the Chief stepped up from the opposite end of the dais. He wore a layered, fur lined regalia that Erik had never seen before, a deceptively delicate bone crown reserved for rare occasions, and in his hands he held a shallow dish and goblet, both silver and reflecting moonlight that spilled from above. It was that detail that caused Erik to glance skyward for the first time since entering.

The chamber’s walls arched up over much of the room, leaving a round, sizable opening at the very top, allowing the Eternal Winter to reach down inside. Raised above the crowd as Erik was, any shared warmth was ripped away, the chill of the Snærfelt sinking into unprotected limbs. The moon, full as it was, peeked just over the edge of the ceiling-wall, offering only empty, cold light.

Chief spoke to the gathered Vikings in a language Erik had never been taught, the cadence familiar but words forbidden to him. None of the few words that he had stolen over the years helped here, and he was left lost, uncertain as ever. The sudden and raucous cheer that resounded throughout the room nearly stopped Erik’s heart, sending it to his throat in dread, though he did his best not to show it.

Finally turning to him, Chief set the silver goblet to the side of the blood-filled basin, holding the dish in both hands. Erik couldn’t quite catch what was said, but the low thrum of magic and the ethereal sheen the dish took on spoke for itself. Then Chief dipped it into the basin, filling it to the brim with blood.

Erik clenched his fists behind him as Skegg stepped forward, accepting the now full dish and returning to crouch beside him, holding it steady for the Chief. Erik’s thundering heart drowned out their exchange, eyes fixated on the dish, its contents nearly black. The still surface was interrupted as Chief dipped his hand in, dark crimson clinging to it on removal.

With one hand, Chief pushed Erik’s hair back and gripped it tightly, holding him still as a blood-coated finger of the other traced a large ‘V’ in the center of his now exposed forehead. The hand holding Erik prevented his gasping flinch from marring the design.

It _burned_ , boiling hot against his skin.

The sensation did not appear to be shared, as Chief continued to trace bloody patterns without pause. Screwing his eyes shut did nothing to help Erik escape it, but he wasn’t punished for it. It was all the permission he needed. Anything to put a sense of distance between himself and _this_.

Erik shook silently as he felt the chief’s fingers paint symbols carefully across his face, down his neck, further. The tacky blood held its shape for the most part, corrective swipes rare among the clearly practiced creation of a design Erik had no desire to see.

The sharp sting of heat along the crimson lines clashed with the icy needles that still pricked his skin, neither temperature dulling the other, but rather standing separate. It left the feeling of something _alive_ creeping across his body, grating against his nerves as it sunk into his flesh. The fiery touch didn’t exist to warm him, but rather to consume.

Daring to open his eyes only when the Chief’s hands retreated, Erik found the overpowering tang of blood that invaded his nose undiminished even with the return of another sense. He watched through hazy vision as Chief return the shallow dish to the left of the silver basin, retrieving the intricate goblet from the other side.

Erik’s heart lost its fragile grip in his chest and plummeted. His awareness of the ongoings around him started to flicker. He rested his entire weight against the chains’ grips on his arms, unable and unwilling to hold himself up.

The now blood-filled goblet entered his vision, the Chief close enough for Erik to hear the incantation, the promise, the command:

“ _Endurfæðast í blóði..._ ”

Tilting Erik’s head back, Chief brought the goblet forward. Dazed, he didn’t even think to struggle, the cold silver at his lips soon giving way to harsh iron.

Erik choked momentarily, hot blood spilling from the sides of his mouth, but Chief kept pouring. His rip on Erik’s jaw gave him no choice but to swallow or drown.

“With this, you’re severed from the goddess of the land.” Chief spoke to him in common, but the words slipped meaninglessly through Erik’s mind. The crimson flood had finally stopped, his own retching cough doing little to aid him. “Her life will no longer sustain you.”

“Now, we’ll see if you’re to die Unchosen.” The Chief stepped away, setting down the goblet on the altar, the sound of metal on stone resonating as the entire room waited in anticipation.

There was a moment of dreadful stillness, the only sound Erik’s fitful coughing as he tried to catch his breath. The emptiness in his chest refused to be abated by something so simple as air.

The edges of his sight began to darken, panic blooming in the emptiness, unable to fill it.

_Please, I can’t die here._

_._

_._

_._

A red haze tinted Erik’s vision, liquid fire zipping along the painted lines up into his skull, washing away all other sensation but pain and agony and _rage_. Erik’s throat tore open before he realized he was screaming, the sound of shrieking metal as he brought his hands up to clutch at his head rattling through his bones. A clamor surged around him, sweeping him up into a chaos he couldn’t comprehend.

Something grabbed him and oh how he _did not care for that_. Lashing out, he felt something crunch wetly and give way, the hold retreating.

_‘Better.’_

The flash of satisfaction proved to be short-lived as cold stones closed around his neck, instinct alone fueling the desperate but fruitless scrabbling against them before something clicked into place.

All at once the red energy faded to nothing but an angry whisper, leaving Erik exhausted, barely clinging to consciousness as a tearing pain in his shoulders and upper arms made itself known. He slumped and fell heavily against the ground, unable to move.

Another blink and he was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Endurfæðast í blóði - (Be) reborn in (the) blood
> 
> Foreign grammar is fun! Imperative versus vocative versus exhortative cases and using middle voice (where something is being done to and being done by the subject) and all these fun things that English either doesn't have or uses loosely... I learned a fair bit, and I'm not 100% sure what I ended up with is right, but it's good enough. 
> 
> Also uh, sorry Erik. About your life. Wish I could say this is where the trauma stopped (it's not and I don't actually). 
> 
> Kudos and Comments are love!


End file.
